


Hide and Seek

by Persephoneshadow



Series: The Walk [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Canon-Typical Violence, Homeless Dean, Homophobic Language, Hurt Dean Winchester, Infidelity, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Married Castiel, Prostitute Dean, Prostitution, References to Castiel/Other(s), References to Dean/Other(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-05-02
Packaged: 2018-10-14 11:18:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10535376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persephoneshadow/pseuds/Persephoneshadow
Summary: Dean's been living on the streets and turning tricks for a while. Most of the time clients just find him. After a job goes wrong he goes looking for work and finds more than he expected with a married man of faith with blue eyes and a trench coat.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So excited to be posting this little guy for the awesome DeanCas tropefest Mid-Winter 5k. I enjoyed this challenge so much because it made me pay attention to every single word. Many thanks to [Janet](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sconesandtextingandmurder/pseuds/sconesandtextingandmurder) and [Nat](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePamelaOracle/pseuds/ThePamelaOracle) for their beta work and all the other tropefest authors for their work and support.
> 
> The title is in part based on the song of the same name by Imogen Heap.

 

Dean doesn’t go looking for clients. They find him. He knows that doesn’t make him a proactive businessman, but hey, when your product is your body, sometimes that’s all the advertising you need. He wanders into bars in the right pair of faded jeans and his tattered jacket, plastering on a fake smile and men just drift his way. Before his clothes got so worn, he’d lurk at nicer joints where women with tired eyes and entitled expressions would pick him up. That work was harder than letting a guy fuck him or sucking cock; and one cougar claimed she didn’t come (lie) and refused to pay. Dean wasn’t sad when it was made clear he wasn’t welcome at those bars any more. Guys pay better anyway and can’t pretend they don’t finish. So what if he’s just a convenient hole to them? With dudes he can usually handle a few a night and that’s more cash for him. So It’s dive bars, truck stops, and a few lonely street corners now. No matter where he is, they find him.

It’s the face. He’s not as much of a twink as he used to be, but he’s still pretty. Thin too, since God fucking knows living out of his car and turning tricks hasn’t put a lot of meat on his bones. He figures that’s what guys gravitate towards. Johns don’t see what Dean does when he looks a mirror: the empty shell of who he used to be or could have been. Just a nice mug and a willing body. Sometimes he can tell what a guy wants just from how they look at him in the first ten seconds. A glance at his lips and Dean knows he’ll have the guy’s cock in his mouth inside an hour. Their eyes go lower and Dean’s in for a longer night.

People downtown look at him like anything but a person. Passersby ignore him like he’s part of the scenery. The other hookers and vagrants ignore him. Even the bible-thumpers that wander the neighborhood handing out sandwiches and scripture pamphlets look at Dean like a stray dog. Well, except for one guy with sad blue eyes and a Constantine coat that always stares at Dean too long. Sometimes he's obviously checking Dean out, so Dean’ll shoot him a wink or a smirk and send him running with cheeks flushed pink. He looks at Dean like a mystery to be solved. Maybe he wants to talk, but Dean doesn’t let him. Doesn’t need the stale coffee and sandwiches or the pity.

Dean’s at one of his regular dives tonight. People don’t come here for a nice drink. They come to forget shit. The bartender, Benny Dean thinks his name is, leaves him alone. If he knows who Dean is – _what_ Dean is, he doesn’t care. There’re enough other illegal transactions going on that one punk sucking cocks in the men’s room doesn’t mean much. Dean’s already made one gentleman’s evening and has two greasy twenties to show for it. He’s nursing a cheap lager, bought with his spoils, and taking advantage of the free bar nuts when he feels the prickle of eyes on him. After doing this shit since before he was old enough to drink – hell, _drive_ – he’s got a second sense for it. Sure enough when Dean looks up, he sees cold blue eyes staring at him from the other end of the bar. 

Dean doesn’t move. He raises an eyebrow at the guy and gives a smile. He could use a few more bills tonight. The dude doesn’t smile back, if anything his face gets harder as he pours a packet of sugar into his coffee. Weird to be drinking coffee at a bar, but Dean doesn’t judge. He goes back to drinking and the guy keeps staring for a minute or two, long enough that Dean wonders if he’s not gonna make a move. Then again, they’re in fucking Kansas. Johns are pretty cautious. Sometimes Dean has to send a few extra signals to reel someone in. So Dean gives the guy his best come fuck me stare and, whadaya know, he gets up, leaving his coffee and a pile of empty sugar packets behind. He’s older, grey peppering his hair and goatee, but he’s handsome enough; nicely dressed and clean. Dean’s definitely dealt with worse.

“You look lonely.” As pickup lines go, it’s pretty standard. He looks at Dean’s mouth and licks his lips. Cocksucking it is.

“Well, I’m happy for some company if you’re offerin’.” Dean leans back on his stool, open and inviting.

“I’m passing through, seeing some family.” Dean nods, pretending to care. “My name is Ishim.”

“Ain’t heard that one before.” Dean’s not sharing his name if that’s what the angle is.

“You right with the Lord, friend?” Weird. The missionary types don’t usually frequent bars.

Dean chuckles and leans in, talking low. “Nah, but I’m pretty good at getting on my knees.” He doesn’t give a fuck if he turns Ishim off. There’s more where he came from.

Ishim looks more impressed than disgusted. “I’m gonna take a piss.”

Dean nods. This is the transaction he knows. Ishim disappears to the back and Dean takes a minute to finish his beer before following. He used to have to steel himself for this; psych himself up thinking about where the money was going and pretend it was someone that mattered. Not anymore. It’s just bodies and fluids and cash. He doesn’t have the time to feel anything.

“Forty. On the sink,” Dean says as he enters the dingy bathroom to find Ishim waiting. He’s taken off his nice jacket and rolled up his sleeves. Weird, but whatever. “And you wear a rubber.”

“A faggot _and_ a whore. Quite a town this is.” Dean doesn’t have time to get offended before the first blow hits, right in the gut. The next punch gets him in the chest and knocks the wind out of him.

“What the fuck!?” Dean wheezes, trying to get his bearings. He’s been in enough brawls to know he can take care of himself but the shock and the pain has him off guard and thrown.

“It’s time for you to face some consequences for your sins, friend.” Another blow to the ribs and something cracks. Then the face. One, two. Eye and mouth. A kick to the shin and a knee to the groin and Dean’s falling. The toes of Ishim’s boots are sharp and hard, and Dean gasps with each kick but he doesn’t move to defend himself. It’ll stop faster if he doesn’t fight back. He knows this routine.

The kicks stop but the pain doesn’t. Dean hears the distinct sound of paper hitting the tile by his head before the creak of the door and Ishim’s retreating steps. Did the fucker actually pay him for the pleasure of beating the crap out of him?

No. It’s a little pamphlet. _Is your soul ready to be saved?_

 

The bartender finds Dean, helps him out and to his car before heading back into clean up the blood. Doesn’t mention calling the cops, thank God. Dean drives and blows the last of his cash on some oxy from a tweaker in the park, then passes out in the back seat yelling at himself in his head for being so fucking stupid again.

He wakes up hurting and starving. He eats the last of a stale sandwich he finds under the seat before turning over to sleep again but the pain has other ideas. So he lies there, trying to summon up the energy to get up and get to work so he can buy himself a decent meal and put some gas in the car. Plus, last he heard from Sam, the kid needed a new coat before the school year started. Damn fourteen year-olds and their growth spurts. How fucking cold does it get in Ohio? Whatever, Dean doesn’t have time to heal. He ain’t hitting a bar with a shiner and split lip that screams “fag that got jumped.” Truck stop maybe? There’s always a few bucks to be made at the Big Rig Paradise outside of town. There’s also a biker gang that hangs out there with a head honcho that loves to pay Dean to choke on his cock and Dean’s not up for that after last night’s _adventure_. So, lurking in an alley it is. It’s gonna be murder with the cracked rib or five he’s got going on but fuck he wants a drink or just a real meal.

He finds a wall to lean on between a strip joint and a saloon in the shittiest part of town and waits. Eventually someone will stumble out with energy and money to burn. He waits as the last light fades and more folk come and go and his stomach cramps and his sides and face ache. It’s close to an hour before he sees something promising: a glimpse of tan moving slowly down the street towards his spot. He’s beyond not in the mood to deal with another of God’s douchewads, but maybe the good lord sent blue eyes with a sandwich. Except it doesn’t look like he’s carrying anything. Blue eyes stops a few feet from Dean and stares between the bar and the “gentlemen’s club” then closes his eyes. Shit, he looks like he’s about to cry or something.

“Hey.” Dean says it before he thinks and those eyes lock on him as he steps forward. They’re quite the contrast to Ishim’s. Darker and sadder, but kinder. The guy’s handsome too, which Dean always appreciated. But he looks terrified.

“You.” So, he does recognize Dean.

“You got any of those sandwiches tonight, buddy?” Dean doesn’t want to spook him so he tries to smile with the half of his face that’s working.

“You never take a sandwich.” The voice is a pleasant surprise, sandpaper rough and ocean deep.

“I’ve had a shitty week.”

“I don’t have any food with me. I was…” Blue eyes shuts his mouth, shame in his face.

“Traveling for pleasure?” Dean smirks. The guy looks up from studying the ground and it’s searing. He looks Dean up and down. It’s a look Dean knows. One he was hoping for tonight. Just not a source he was expecting.

“Are you…” Dean braces himself. Whatever brought this pillar of the church into Dean’s path tonight has got him twisted up something awful. But he’s obviously jonesing for a drug Dean is selling, and just needs to get up the courage to ask. “I can buy you a sandwich.”

 

So that’s how Dean ends up at the diner two blocks down ordering the biggest burger they can make while a guy in a trench coat watches him from the other side of the booth like he might explode.

“You got a name?” Dean asks when the waitress leaves.

“Castiel.”

“God, what’s the deal with the weird names around here lately?”

“God.” Dean raises an eyebrow. “That’s the deal. With my name. It’s an angel. Family tradition.” Castiel sounds embarrassed by it.

“Right. Well, can we skip the portion of the meal where you tell me God loves me but hates my sins. Kind of at my limit on evangelism this week.” Dean indicates his face and the dude goes pale.

“Someone beat you for…”

“He sure as shit wasn’t stealing my wallet.”

Castiel looks…well, furious might be too small of a word. “That is _reprehensible_ ,” he growls then deflates, the defeated look overtaking him again. “I’m sorry that happened to you-”

“Dean. My name’s Dean.” He’s not sure why he gives his real name, usually he goes with a bullshit alias.

“It’s nice to formally meet you, Dean.”

“Yeah, you too, Cas.”

He sticks out his left hand, because it’s the right ribs that hurt, and Castiel takes it cautiously. His hands are soft and his fingers are long. And he has a wedding ring. Well that explains some of the angst.

“And believe me I have no intention of…evangelizing. I can’t save my own soul. I don’t think I’d be good at saving yours.” There’s clear bitterness in Castiel’s voice as he draws back his hand and fiddles with the ring. “We call it ‘the good news,’” he adds with a dry laugh. “Never sounded very good to me.”

“You’re really selling it. Why are you down here every weekend handing out PB&Js when you don’t think you can save anyone?”

“God still commands us to be kind, to help those in need.” Castiel shrugs. “Makes me feel better when I look at my own failings if I can help people.”

“Well, grub without God is something I’m all for,” Dean grins as the waitress appears with two heaping plates of food. Dean nearly passes out from how good it smells and dives in without ceremony. He’s halfway through the burger when he bothers to look up again. Castiel hasn’t touched his.

“My wife doesn’t buy beef.”

Dean swallows. He’s not sure if he’s supposed to talk here or just listen. “Uh…”

“She thinks it’s unhealthy and that it’s cruel the way the animals are treated. She’s not wrong but…” Castiel shakes his head and take a bite of his burger. He closes his eyes in pleasure and Dean wonders what the fuck is going on in this guy’s head.

“Sounds like you live a pretty controlled life.”

Castiel nods and keeps eating.

“That why you were heading into a strip club?”

Castiel raises an eyebrow and it’s kind of hot. “I wasn’t sure if I was going to go in. Before I saw you I was praying for strength or a sign. Or for God to stop testing or punishing me or…” Castiel stops himself before Dean has a chance to. “God has a terrible sense of humor.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dean chuckles, finishing his burger in two more bites and starting on the mountain of fries. His stomach already hurts from so much food after so long with nearly nothing, but he doesn’t care.

“How old are you?”

Dean blinks. “Twenty-two. Why? You wanna check ID?”

“You look younger.”

“And?”

Castiel swallows, looking at Dean with unchecked hunger in his eyes.  “And people – men – pay you. For sex.”

Part of Dean had hoped that Castiel didn’t get what he was, but he’s not that lucky. “Yeah,” Dean sighs.

“So you’re not actually…” Castiel looks down at his food like even thinking the word makes him ill.

“Queer?”

Castiel nods, taking a bite of burger.

“Nah. I like dick, always have,” Dean says with a shrug that makes him wince and some tension melts off Cas as he looks back up. “I like pussy too. But dick pays better. Why not make money doing what you love, huh?” No one would be convinced by that line, especially coming from a beat-up loser like Dean. So he amends. “I’m up for a good time with anyone if they’ve got the cash.”

Castiel looks down at his food and takes a few more bites, thinking so hard Dean can almost hear it. Every inch of him is tense and dour and Dean’s heart would break for the dude if he cared. Dean nudges Castiel’s foot under the table and those blue eyes shoot back up to him. Dean’s tired and sore, but this weirdo looks like he could stand to do more for himself than a secret cheeseburger. Dean inclines his head and looks up through his lashes with his most tempting expression. Even with the bruises, he knows it works because Castiel looks like he’s drowning.

“You got the cash, Cas?”

Something shifts in Castiel’s expression that has Dean catching his breath. “Is there some place we can go?”

 

The clerk at the motel takes Castiel’s money without blinking and Dean claims his preferred room on the first floor. Castiel looks nauseous when he walks through the door after Dean.

“You didn’t need to pay for the whole night.”

“I did. I thought you might like to stay…after.” Even after the burger and polite conversation, that surprises Dean. This guy takes that kindness to the needy shit seriously. Usually Dean would spit on that kind of charity but instead he just lets it warm him.

“Thanks.”

“What happens next?”

If it hadn’t been clear before that this was Castiel’s first time paying for it, that cinches it. He looks so out of place in the dingy little room, standing stiff in his suit and tie by the door.

“Coat off. Money on the table. Literally,” Dean orders. Castiel strips out of his trench and pulls out his wallet without hesitation. Dean doesn’t know if he should quote a price or wait to see what Castiel is willing to pay. He chooses to wait and his stomach clenches with guilt and glee when Cas pulls out three crisp hundreds. “Hey that’s…”

“Do you need more?”

Dean swallows and shakes his head. “Nah that’s…more than enough.”

Castiel nods and sets the money on the dresser and turns to Dean, cheeks red. “I..uh…it may take a while for me to…”

Dean can’t stop himself from wheezing out a laugh. “Guys have trouble getting it up all the time, don’t worry.”

Castiel nods stiffly but doesn’t relax. “My wife and I…it’s been…hard.”

“Or _not_ hard.” Dean gets a glare for that. He deserves it.

“She thinks it’s her. I was going to the…club to see if I…”

“Could get it up for other women?” Castiel gives another sick nod and Dean’s definitely starting to get the story here. Dean steps boldly into Castiel’s space, pressing his chest against him and Castiel lets out a sigh, his eyes raising to meet Dean’s, full of lust. “But it’s not women you get it up for.”

Castiel shakes his head. “When I want to be intimate. Sometime I think about…men. I’ve thought about you. Many times. You’re very beautiful.” Well, that explains all the staring.

“Well, now you’ve got me.” Cas heaves a shaking breath and Dean takes that as his cue to palm Cas through his slacks, and sure enough, he starts swelling immediately. “Seems to me like everything is workin’ fine.”

“Can I kiss you?”

That’s usually a big no. It’s messy and creepy and way too intimate. But this guy… “Since you bought me dinner, and it’s your first time.”

It hurts his lip when Castiel’s mouth hits his but it’s worth it. Dean can’t remember the last time he was truly and properly kissed and it feels fucking _good_. He’s not gonna have to pretend to like this, because Cas kisses him like this shit is _real_. And fuck, for this poor sad schmo it probably is. First time he’s given in to all those wants he’s been told are sinful and wrong. He kisses Dean and pulls him tight like he’s the one thing he’s ever wanted and never had, because he is. He kisses Dean like he knows he’s a sin but it feels like salvation.

Dean pulls back and starts stripping off Cas’s clothes. He’s quick about it and backs him to the bed before pulling off his slacks and shoes and socks. His cock is fully hard and leaking through his pale blue boxers.

“That for me?” Cas nods and Dean doesn’t think the guy could form words if he tried. “I got something for you too, hot stuff.”

Dean strips off his tee and overshirt in one move and goes for his belt.

“Dean, you're…” Cas is up and touching him gently and it’s not until Dean looks down that he realizes why the guy’s face it full of concern instead of want. His chest is mottled with green-black bruises. “Was this the same person who-”

“Don’t worry about it.” Dean really _really_ doesn’t want to think about getting the shit kicked out of him on a bathroom floor right now. He’s hard because he’s having actual fun with a dude for the first time in a long time and he doesn’t want to shatter the illusion remembering that the guy who put him in this state probably goes to church with Cas. Probably one of the reasons Cas is with a whore in the dark instead of living the life he wants. “I can turn of the lights if you don’t want to see.”

“You’re hurt. I don’t want to make it worse.”

“You need to stop being well-behaved, Cas.” Dean grabs Cas’s hands away from his bruises and guides one to his ass and the other into this pants and to his dick. Cas straight up gasps when he gets a hand around Dean, eyes going out of focus. “The parts that matter are just fine.”

Cas looks like he wants to argue, so Dean kisses him and the discussion is over. Dean slips out of his pants with Cas jerking his cock and, fuck, it feels _aw_ _esome_. There's usually some physical response on the job; bodies are bodies and guys like when Dean gets hard, but this is different. Better than he deserves and not what Cas paid for.

“On the bed,” Dean orders. Cas nearly falls as he obeys, pushing himself up on his elbows to watch as Dean pulls off his boxers. His cock is nice, uncut and decent in size. “Don’t come,” Dean warns and proceeds to do his second (fourth?) really stupid thing in an hour as he takes Castiel’s dick in his mouth. Damn, it’s nicer without a condom. He can feel the texture of Cas, enjoy the little twitches and even the tang of precome on his tongue. And there’s something about knowing this is the first time in a long time, or maybe ever, that a guy has done this to Cas that gets Dean sort of high on pride and the horrible thrill of defiling something good and pure.

“Dean, that’s…oh fuck… _fuck._ ” Cas keeps swearing and making the most obscene sounds as Dean shows off some of his best moves, lavishing him with attention from his hands and tongue. He takes Cas all the way in and hums in encouragement when he starts fucking Dean’s mouth, but not for too long. Cas groans when Dean pulls off and retreats to his discarded jacket. “What are you…”

“You paid for more than getting sucked off.” Cas looks thunderstruck and it gives Dean pause. “You do wanna fuck me, right?”

“Yes, but I’ve never…”

Dean’s not surprised. “Lay back and relax, baby, you’re with an expert.”

Cas scoots further up the bed as Dean returns to straddle him, condom and packet of lube in hand. Dean tosses Cas the condom then rips the Astroglide open with his teeth. He squeezes a good dollop on his fingers while Cas rolls on the rubber. Dean shifts so Cas has at least a partial view to watch him reach back and start opening himself up. It kinda tough with the bruises and busted ribs, but Dean wasn’t kidding when he said he was a pro. He has two fingers pumping in his hole in no time. Cas stares up at him like he’s seen, well, not the face of God. Maybe the opposite. But something beautiful and astonishing. It’s a nice change for sure, even if the awe in Cas’s face makes something deeper than Dean’s wounds hurt. 

“Wanna make sure I’m ready for you,” Dean pants. “Slick yourself up.”

Cas fumbles with the lube and complies as Dean gives a whine when he adds another finger. He’s used to the burn. Even likes it. This is already more prep than he usually gets and a hell of a lot more control. Instead of getting pounded from behind he gets to sink slowly onto Cas’s cock and watch his eyes roll back in his head.

“You feel like heaven,” Cas sighs and Dean doesn’t remark on the choice of words. He starts moving instead, riding Cas at an easy pace while he moans and bucks underneath him. Dean’s concentration is on Cas, customer and all, but it’s easy to get lost. The stretch is good and he feels warm and full. If he gets the angle of his hip just right, Cas’s cock hits the sweet spot and Dean joins him in the chorus of groans. “Dean, fuck, I…”

“Whatever you want, baby.” It’s the sort of thing Dean always says, but doesn’t really mean, except for now. Cas takes him at his word and tugs him down by the shoulder. He kisses him rough and wet as he flips them and starts driving into Dean with a fervor that has Dean seeing stars.

“Yeah, that’s right. Fuck me hard, Cas. Let it all go,” Dean murmurs over the wet sound of their bodies moving together.

“Dean, I’m…”

It’s fast, but Dean’s not judging. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Go ahead. Come in me.” Cas gives a cry as his hips stutter a Dean feels the warm pulse of his cock filling the condom. Dean gets a hand on himself, jerking his own cock fast and furious so that he comes right as Cas’s eyes open. He figures that’s the sort of thing he’d like to see the first time he fucked someone and Cas looks adequately impressed.

Cas pulls out and falls back, panting and staring at the ceiling. His face in inscrutable and Dean can’t imagine what he’s feeling right now, but it doesn’t look like happy post-coital rainbows.

“You okay?”

“I just broke my marriage vows and God’s laws. Man’s laws too. And…” Cas swallows. “And it was so good I don’t even care.” Cas sounds like he’s confessing murder and Dean doesn’t know how a good person would respond to that.

“Put that on my yelp page.” Cas turns to Dean with utter confusion in his face. “Holy shit, I’m joking.”

“Oh.”

More than the sex or the food or even the kindness, the sweet-serious nod Cas gives make something warm churn under Dean’s bruised ribs. And that’s not okay. Dean heads quickly for the bathroom to clean up. When he comes back Cas is throwing the condom away and looking at Dean like he’s a wild animal that might spook.

“Is that normal?” Cas asks, nodding to where’s Dean’s wiping the come from his stomach.

“Me coming? Uh, no, actually. But that was…different.” Cas starts looking for his pants, confusion and guilt creeping back into his expression. “You were good. Very hot. I liked it.”

“I did too.”

“That I got.”

Cas gives a weak smile as he pulls on his clothes. “Thank you,” he says and Dean has no doubt he means it in his soul.

“Just doing my job,” Dean shrugs and winces.

“You should see a doctor.”

“Yeah, I’ll call my insurance in the morning.” Cas gives him a look that’s equally concerned and annoyed. “Seriously. I’m fine. Sleeping a night in a bed will be nice. The food helped too. You don’t gotta worry.”

“I will anyway.”

Dean can’t take the level of sincerity in the guy’s face. “That your way of balancing this out? Fucking a dude is okay if you also show him the Lord’s charity or some shit?” Dean regrets the words the instant they’re out and Cas looks down at the carpet.

“Something like that.”

Dean puts boxers on and settles onto the bed. It’s creaky and ancient and it’s going to feel so good for the next nine hours. When he looks up Cas is pulling out his wallet again. “Dude, you already paid.”

“This is for you to get a decent breakfast and something for the pain.” Cas’s tone brooks no argument and Dean swallows his retort. No reason to turn down cash. But Cas is doing something else, writing something on a card. “This is my full name and phone number. You can call me if you need…help.”

“You know I’m not going to.”

“It will ease my soul if I know you have it.”

Dean nods and Cas sets the paper next to the cash. He shrugs into his trench coat and Dean watches as the weight of the world settles back on to his shoulders.

“Thank you, again, Dean. For the conversation as well as the…” He still can’t even say it. Dean laughs and shakes his head. “For everything.” He opens the door to leave and gives Dean a look that’s almost terrifying. Like Dean just walked on water or healed the sick. Fuck, Dean’s dealt with closet cases before, but never one that made a quick fuck seem like a revelation.

“Any time, Cas. You know where to find me.”

Cas gives one more sad nod before disappearing.

Dean slumps back onto the bed and wonders if he has a new regular. The look in Castiel’s eye was like a junkie after their first taste. Only mystery is if Cas will come back to Dean or go looking for someone else to try. Part of Dean hopes he doesn’t. He doesn’t wanna be some charity case. But if the guy’s issues earn Dean a few more dollars for an easy fuck…he’d be okay with it. Probably won’t say no to a sandwich if he shows up around the neighborhood again. Dean’s not going to think about it. Hoping Cas will find him again is too much like planning for a future he doesn’t have. Tomorrow the bruises will heal more and his face will look better and he can chance a bar again.

Someone will find him.


	2. Chapter 2

The continuation of the story is now posting, for those of you that subscribed. Please enjoy [The Walk](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10794432/chapters/23943372).

**Author's Note:**

> Loved this tiny slice of a world so much that I have definite plans for a slightly longer sequel, because I can't be brief even when I want to.
> 
> Say hit to me over on [tumblr](http://ibelieveinthelittletreetopper.tumblr.com/)!


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